


Thick With Common Thieves

by raptorific



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, It's gonna be Sompharah eventually I promise, Mirror Universe, Multi, all character tags apply to both Prime and Mirror versions of the character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptorific/pseuds/raptorific
Summary: Pharah, Tracer, and Sombra find themselves transported to a mirror universe that encourages its inhabitants to be their worst selves, and everyone they know seems to have a counterpart there. They want to escape and return to their own world, but if it's discovered they're not who they appear to be, it could spell their death
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Sombra | Olivia Colomar
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Tracer and Pharah had grown relatively confident they were about to die. They had known the risks of the mission when they took it-- much like any other mission, in their line of work, there was always a chance it might end that way-- but that didn’t mean they had to be happy about it. 

Technically, the mission wasn’t “on the books” for either of them. The New Overwatch was in violation of UN Sanctions just by operating, and of course, Fareeha’s employer, Helix Securities, officially disavowed all knowledge of her occasional partnership with this band of vigilantes. She was not allowed use of her Raptora flight suit, opting instead to wear a sleek black tactical outfit.

However, just this once, things like protocol seemed petty in the face of the threat they faced. Officially, they weren’t working together, just like officially, they weren’t looking the other way on Talon contributing technical support to the effort. 

Neither of them was particularly happy about Sombra’s presence. Tracer was breaking the law as a vigilante, but Sombra was a _criminal,_ working for one of the most vile syndicates in human history. However, her technical skills were unparalleled, and if anyone would be able to disarm this device, it was her. 

Unfortunately, no one could disarm this device. 

“At least we’re going out the right way,” Tracer said. “We did the right thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sombra replied, “I should’ve known that the first device I couldn’t hack would be the one that killed me.”

“For once in your life,” Pharah said, “can’t you think of someone other than yourself? We saved the world.”

This stung Sombra. She didn’t respond, because Pharah was right. The billions of lives they’d saved made her own death pale in comparison. 

They had been called to combat a plot by a radical anti-omnic reactionary sect called The Black Spot-- a sect whose leaders had been either arrested or killed outside the bunker they now found themselves secured inside. The weapon they were aiming at the world was called a Positron Bomb. Not only was its activation capable of leveling a medium-sized country, but the blast would create a chain reaction that would affect every omnic on the planet, turning their positronic brain into a bomb of equal magnitude. The Black Spot had amassed hundreds of followers and built a bunker capable of surviving the devastation, and equipped it to be self-sufficient until the world could be repopulated by their descendents. 

Regardless of their other allegiances, pretty much everyone outside The Black Spot wanted to stop The Black Spot. 

Tracer and Pharah had been tasked with getting Sombra to the site of the device to disarm it. They had disabled The Black Spot’s forces fairly quickly and easily, but Sombra quickly discovered that any attempt to disarm the bomb would result in its immediate detonation. It was on a countdown timer, and it couldn’t be stopped. 

It could, however, be moved. Sombra realized that since the bunker was designed to withstand the blast, logically it should be able to _contain_ the blast. If it was fully secured, its effects would be contained to the inside of the bunker, and outside, it would be like nothing had ever happened. 

They worked quickly and got the bomb inside the bunker. What they didn’t realize, as they pushed the bomb over the threshold into the structure, was that the Bunker was programmed to automatically lock down ten minutes before the blast. 

The three heroes-- and they were all heroes, at least today-- were hermetically sealed in. They wouldn’t even be able to send a message to say goodbye to their loved ones. 

“Emily’s going to hear about my death on the news,” Tracer said, holding back tears. “I hope Winston’s able to tell her before then, but I know how she worries. She’s watching the news right now. She’ll know I didn’t get out in time.”

Pharah sighed. “Did you know my mother’s still alive? She sent me a letter a few months back. I was sure I’d respond someday, I just wasn’t ready. I was _so sure_ I’d have more time to make things right between us.”

Sombra shifted uncomfortably. “At least you two have someone to miss you,” she said, intending to sound bitter but unable to mask the profound sadness in her words. “You know what my inner circle’s gonna say after this thing goes off? ‘Now we’ve gotta find a new hacker.’”

Neither Tracer nor Pharah was expecting this level of vulnerability from their former adversary. Tracer supposed those old grievances didn’t matter now. She embraced Sombra in the biggest bear hug she could muster, and Sombra began to cry openly. 

Pharah felt for Sombra, but suddenly, something occurred to her. She’d seen Sombra _almost_ die dozens of times, but somehow, she never actually did. 

“Sombra,” Pharah said urgently, “do you still have that transporter device?”

Sombra sniffled. “Yeah, but it’s useless now,” she said, “this bunker’s a coffin, I couldn’t get a signal out of here if I tried.”

“But could we teleport elsewhere _within_ the bunker?” Pharah asked. 

“What, so we can die in the bathroom?” Sombra snarked back, causing Pharah some conflicted feelings about having sympathized with her moments before. 

“No!” Pharah sighed. “Do you remember how you survived the blast during Talon’s siege on MEKA?”

Sombra thought about this. “When that little brat blew her mech, I-- _oh!_ ”

“Oh what?” Tracer asked. “Oh what?! Do you have a way to get out of here?”

“Oh, you’re brilliant, bluebird!” Sombra said. “If this works, whatever you want from me, it’s _yours_.”

Pharah scoffed. “There’s nothing I want from you,” she said. “Can you do it or not?”

“Do _what?_ ” Tracer asked. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of _something,_ ” Sombra smiled, her sadness a distant memory. “And yes, I can, but we’ll have to time it personally. And I’m gonna need your help.”

Tracer practically shook Sombra. “ _Please tell me what’s going on._ ”

Sombra spoke as fast as she could, since time was a factor. “The three of us are going to activate my translocator at the _exact second_ this bomb goes off. We’ll be between dimensions at the moment of the blast, and we’ll pop out without a scratch once the dust has settled!”

“Won’t the bomb just destroy the translocator too?” Tracer asked. 

“That’s where you come in, England,” Sombra’s eyes flared excitedly. “The translocator is based on the same tech as your chronal accelerator. _You’re_ gonna rig ‘em together to throw it a few minutes into the future at the exact moment we’re between dimensions.”

“It’s gonna be a matter of split-seconds,” Pharah said, “but it’s our only chance of survival.”

“Even if this works,” Tracer said, “I’ll be a ghost without my accelerator.”

“You’ll be a _corpse_ if we don’t do this,” Sombra said, “besides, you can get a new one if we live. From what I hear, it’s so easy a monkey could build it.”

“Right,” Tracer said, and mustered up all the focus she could. “We have two minutes. I can get it done in time, just… be ready at my signal.”

“Aye,” Pharah said.

“Okay,” Sombra said. 

Pharah surveyed them as they got to work on their respective parts of the plan. Tracer wordlessly wired the translocator into her accelerator, which she took off and handed to Sombra. Sombra activated her stealth so she could run all the way across the bunker and back before the blast went off-- the further away the translocator was from them, the longer they’d be between dimensions, and the better their chances would be of the plan working. 

Tracer had already started flickering as the accelerator got further away from her, like she was a glitching image of a person, but she summoned all of her determination to hold herself together for long enough for the plan to work. 

Pharah couldn’t help but think what a shame it was Sombra was on the other side. Watching her and Tracer collaborate, you would’ve thought they were good friends. Maybe they could’ve been, in another life. Maybe they still could be, if this works. 

As the counter ticked below 30 seconds, Pharah found herself missing the peace she’d felt only a few minutes earlier when she was certain she was going to die. Now that she had a fraction of a glimmer of hope, she was more anxious and uneasy than she’d ever been. If Tracer’s calculations were even slightly off, if Sombra tripped on the way back, or if her idea wasn’t completely sound, they’d all be blown to bits, and all this worrying would be for naught. 

As if to reassure her, she heard Sombra’s voice say “¿Me extrañaste?” as she reappeared in the doorway in a flash of purple light. “Ten seconds left. Everyone grab onto me, fast as you can.”

Tracer and Pharah wasted no time, and embraced Sombra tightly. The clock ticked down to five, and Sombra realized that she’d been hugged more today than since her parents died. 

The clock hit one. In the moment before it ticked to zero, Sombra hit the switch to activate her translocator. They were in the stream, neither matter nor energy. For an instant, the whole world was purple and they were free of the constraints of time and space. It only ever lasted a fraction of an instant, but it had become Sombra’s favorite time. It had saved her life on countless occasions, and the truth is, if the plan hadn’t worked, they’d be dead by now. She felt a calm wash over her, as she accepted that there was nothing that could go wrong. 

However, at that exact moment, Tracer lost the ability to hold herself together, and glitched all three of them ever-so-slightly. The world seemed to splinter into shards, and then, as though nothing had happened, they were safely on the other side. 

Sombra and Pharah rubbed their heads. 

“Oh my god, it survived!” Tracer cheered. 

Pharah looked at the chronal accelerator that Tracer was currently so excited about. “I guess we did too.” 

“Winston’s gonna be _thrilled!_ “

“Something’s wrong,” Sombra said. “Something went wrong, we--”

“We lived,” Pharah said, “it went right enough for me.” She laughed. 

“No, look--” Sombra said. “The lights are on. The blast should’ve taken out all of the-- Did you change clothes?!”

“What are you-- _oh my god._ ” Tracer looked down at herself and saw that she was not wearing her usual bomber jacket and skintight leggings. She was wearing steel-toed combat boots and black military fatigues, and her hair fell in curtains all the way to her shoulders. She looked at Pharah, who was wearing a long black leather jacket adorned with several impressive-looking medals. 

Sombra herself was also wearing dark clothes, a tight-fitting jacket and jeans, and, surprising to her, a beret. She took it off to examine it, noting the embroidered Talon insignia on it, and suddenly realized something. 

Her hand went to the side of her head, and she was shocked, both at what she found and what she did not find. What she found was a full head of hair, which she hadn’t had on the sides of her head since she was 22. What she did _not_ find was any sort of cybernetic augmentation surgically wired into her skull, something which it should be impossible to misplace.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Sombra asked. 

Sombra did not get any immediate answers, as the very moment the question passed her lips, a nearby door burst open, and she heard a voice scream “FREEZE! ON YOUR KNEES!”

“Wh--” Sombra said, and looked up with shock at her assailant. 

“ _Jesse?!_ ” Pharah asked. 

“Hello, little sister,” he said derisively. The man standing before them was unmistakably Jesse McCree. But something was visibly wrong. McCree was clean-shaven, his hair close-cropped. His trademark scent of whiskey and cigar smoke was gone, and his southern accent muted, as though he was actively suppressing it. He wore an outfit similar to Pharah’s, and instead of his usual revolver, he carried a fully automatic pulse rifle. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

“What are you talking about?” Pharah asked. 

Jesse pointed his rifle at Sombra. “Olivia Colomar, you are hereby under arrest for sedition against the empire, criminal dissent, and conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor.”

“Emperor?!” Tracer said, “Wh--”

“SILENCE!” Pharah cut her off before she could incriminate them any further. It was clear to her that they were not where they were meant to be, and that things worked differently here. She was quick on her feet, and realized that this wasn’t the sort of place where they could afford to be exposed if they weren’t who they appeared to be. “We’ve already taken custody of this prisoner, _Big Brother,_ and I won’t have you stealing credit for my hard work, _as usual._ ”

She had no way of knowing any of this, but she knew she needed to appear confident in her words. Her words being biting appeared to take precedence over their being accurate. 

“Lead the way,” Pharah ordered, “I can tell them you helped or I can arrest you too for obstructing my justice.”

McCree sneered. “I obey. Follow.” He walked down the hallway, and Pharah moved to follow him. 

“Get the prisoner,” she said to Tracer, and then mouthed “go along with it” to both of them.

Tracer nodded, and took Sombra by the arm. “I obey,” she said. 

“Jesse,” Fareeha called, “What are your orders? I was not expecting to see you here.”

“And yet, I always turn up,” McCree said, his natural accent breaking through for just a moment. “That bomb would’ve killed the Emperor. I hate to admit it, but moving it into her bunker was a smart move.”

“Just the Emperor? I thought this bomb would’ve taken out all life on Earth.” Fareeha said. 

“Might’ve,” Jesse replied, “if anyone outside the palace could afford omnics. Nah, this bomb would’ve taken out the Imperial City and the omnic terrorist cell up in the mountains, but everyone else would’ve been fine. Honestly, if I hadn’t been in the city, it wouldn’t have made sense to stop her. All my competition for the throne would’ve been eliminated.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds, and then Jesse laughed. 

“I’m just kiddin’,” his accent shone through again, and then vanished. “I have nothing but loyalty for our glorious emperor.”

“As do I,” Pharah said, sensing this was the right thing to say. McCree led them out of the bunker and into the town square of the imperial city. 

“It’s a shame you took the collar,” McCree said, “I was looking forward to punishing her myself.”

Pharah’s ears perked up at this. The arresting officer was, evidently, responsible for the punishment of the suspect. 

“You will process her and deliver her to my quarters,” Pharah said firmly. “Ms. Oxton and I will oversee her sentence. No one is to enter, is that clear?”

McCree looked surprised at this. “Your quarters, eh? That’s not like you.”

Pharah snarled. “Know your place, Jesse,” she spat, the words feeling like bile coming out of her mouth. “You have no business questioning where I interrogate my suspects.”

Jesse seemed startled by the word “suspects,” and Fareeha immediately knew she’d said the wrong thing, but Jesse held his tongue.

“When she tells me where to find her co-conspirators, I don’t want you listening in and going after them yourself,” Fareeha said, and then, for good measure, added “you weasel.”

McCree scoffed. Apparently this was what he needed to hear to set his mind at ease. “You really will be the death of me,” he said. 

As they made the walk from the town square to Fareeha’s lodgings, Tracer kept her gun in Sombra’s back, but of course, had no intention of pulling the trigger. They looked up at the massive screens lining the streets, bearing the image of a red sword ringed in fire on a black background. Periodically, the screens would shift, and a familiar face flickered into view. 

“If you see something, say something,” said the woman they both knew to be Hana Song. “Your local Overwatch agent is your friend. They will not hurt you if you’ve done nothing wrong. If you are aware of crime and fail to report it, you are aiding and abetting. Do your patriotic duty today and inform your local Overwatch agent of any seditious activity, for the glory of the Empire.”

When the message was finished, the screen returned to the insignia. Sombra, hoping no one noticed she was only pretending to be cuffed, hoped that even though her clothes had changed, she still had what she needed. She felt inside the hem of her sleeve and traced the outline of a small device that she knew would help them behind closed doors. 

“Your quarters,” Jesse said, gesturing at a rather large mansion at the end of the block. 

“Excellent,” Pharah said, “I don’t want to see hide or hair of you until I call for you, is that clear? Get out of my sight.”

Jesse snarled. “I obey.”

Pharah opened the door and was greeted by an omnic servant. For effect, Tracer jabbed Sombra in the back with her gun and ushered her through. 

Pharah looked at the battered omnic servant with horror. Wherever they were, this was a truly terrible place, and she had no interest in being whoever she was here. 

“I have work to do,” Pharah said as authoritatively as she could muster. “I’ll handle my own affairs until further notice.”

“But mistress, is there anything I can--” the servant asked meekly. 

“I can handle myself for a few days,” she insisted, “tell the staff to go home.”

The servant looked horrified. “Mistress, we… cannot afford to recharge on days we don’t work. If you send us home, you may well be sentencing us to death.”

Pharah found herself doubly horrified. “Tell whoever handles your pay that you are on direct orders from me to stay out of sight, and that _they_ are on direct orders from me to continue your payment until further notice. If they fail in this task, _they_ will need to worry about a death sentence.”

The servant didn’t know how to respond to this. “Y-yes, Mistress. The staff has been notified. You will not see us again until we are called.” he said, and hurried out the door.

As soon as they were sure the servants were off the property, Sombra removed the device from her pocket and pressed a button. A bright purple pulse filled the room and spread through the grounds. 

“I should now be in control of every device in the building,” Sombra said. “We don’t need to worry about surveillance.”

“Good,” Tracer said. “So what the _hell_ is going on here?”

“We’re not where we’re supposed to be,” Pharah said. “We’re not _who_ we’re supposed to be.”

“Something went wrong in the jump, when we tried to avoid the bomb,” Sombra explained. “I felt it, there was some sort of glitch. It’s like we were on our way to the right place and then we just… shifted sideways.”

Tracer’s heart sank. “That was me,” she said, “I couldn’t hold myself together any longer. My god, I brought us here.”

“What’s ‘here?’” Pharah asked.

“We were between dimensions when it happened,” Sombra explained. “If Spiky here knocked us sideways, I should think we landed in the wrong dimension.”

Pharah gestured at her own outfit and Sombra’s head. “But we’re… different. We’ve changed clothes, you don’t have your gadgets. How is that possible?”

“When we glitched out, we were beyond physicality. Beyond time and space. Pure consciousness,” Sombra explained, “in an instant, the translocator saves our atomic structure, converts us into energy, and sends us to the receiving pad, which reconstructs us atom-by-atom exactly as we were. It looks like our counterparts in this dimension tried something like what we did, only instead of coming out of _my_ translocator--”

“--we came out of hers,” Tracer said, “the one that had _their_ atomic structure.”

“Exactly,” Sombra said. 

“So where are they?” Pharah asked. “The other Us, where did they end up?”

“I don’t have all the answers here,” Sombra replied, “but if I was a gambling woman, I’d say--”

“Don’t,” Tracer said. “I don’t want to think about them being loose in our dimension.”

Something occurred to Pharah. “Okay, empty pockets,” she rushed them, “we’ve got their clothes, that means we have their personal effects. Maybe we can find out something about ourselves.”

Pharah, Sombra, and Tracer fished everything out of their pockets, and found most of what they usually kept with them. Sombra had nothing but devices, some of which she recognized, some of which were strange and alien to her. 

Tracer and Pharah each found a leather wallet with a badge inside, bearing the insignia they’d seen on the propaganda screens and, in bold, imposing letters, the word “OVERWATCH.”

According to their ID cards, Pharah was a Captain, and Tracer was a Lieutenant. Neither of them had listed callsigns, so they resolved to address each other as Captain Amari and Lt. Oxton in public, and decided it was best that they be in public as little as possible from here on out. 

Pharah found a small tablet in one of her jacket pockets, which included a full dossier on their intended target. “According to this, you’re Olivia Colomar, also known as the expert hacker and wanted domestic terrorist La Sombra,” Pharah explained. 

“Wow, it’s like night and day,” Sombra quipped, “you’re cops and I’m a criminal. Has the world gone mad?”

“This is different and you know that,” Pharah snapped. “This thing talks about how you’re a seditious traitor, but it looks like all of your crimes are… liberating political prisoners, sabotaging executions, and attempting to assassinate whoever’s in charge of this place.”

“Just to be clear,” Sombra said, “that doesn’t sound so different from what I do back home.”

Pharah ignored this and kept reading. “According to this, Talon is some sort of resistance cell. Freedom fighters.”

“Could be useful, getting home,” Tracer offered. 

“I don’t know that we could show our faces without being shot,” Pharah shot back, “we’re high-ranking officers of the Emperor’s secret police. 

“We still have the translocator and the chronal accelerator,” Sombra said. “Maybe there’s a way we could get back home?”

Tracer sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I don’t think we could just… do it again. I think we only got here because our counterparts here did the same thing at the same time. If we tried to recreate it without being sure they were doing the same thing on the other side, we could end up… well, anywhere.”

“Don’t give up hope so fast,” Pharah insisted. “We managed it by accident. Imagine how much better we’ll be at it when we know what we’re trying to do.”

“We’ll need help,” Tracer said, “God, I wish Winston was here.”

“He very well might be,” Sombra said. “I recognized a few of your fellow so-called Heroes over here. Looks like everyone back home is here in some form.”

Tracer started to feel excited about the possibility that her friend was here, and then remembered that she and Pharah weren’t exactly nice people here, and decided she didn’t want to see any more of her friends this way. 

“This dossier says your boss is Gabriel Reyes,” Pharah said. “He’s still alive here.”

Pharah bit her tongue. Just because they were in another dimension didn’t mean they wouldn’t get back, and she couldn’t risk leaking important intel that the other side could use when they got back.

“Right now, they think we’re interrogating you,” Pharah pointed at Sombra. “I think it’s best that you not be seen leaving the house. Do you think you can keep out of sight?”

“Hey, practice makes perfect,” Sombra said. 

“We’ll look around here for anything we can use,” Pharah explained. “Weapons, gear, anything to that effect. I seem to have the most security clearance, so I’ll report to this universe’s Overwatch HQ and see what information I can get. Maybe I can even scrounge up some help.”

Tracer looked like she was barely still able to hold back tears. Sombra felt a pang of compassion. They’d been enemies in the past, but she was one of the closest things to a friend Tracer had in this universe. She awkwardly patted her on the shoulder and said “don’t worry. We’ll get you back home to Emily.”

Sombra had no idea who Emily was, but she’d heard Tracer mention her in the bunker, and hoped this was what was worrying her. 

Pharah went upstairs and found the armory-- something she wouldn’t have in her universe back home, but the Pharah of this world seemed to feel she needed to be armed to the teeth at all times. Given the company she kept, Pharah almost couldn’t blame her.

She looked admiringly at the Raptora suit before her. It was more powerfully built than her suit back home. In her own universe, the Raptora suit inspired home. This one was blood-red with an imposing frame, and an enormous wingspan. It was more heavily armored than her own suit, and she could only imagine how they powered it. 

She looked at the cannons built into the arms of the suit. Flamethrowers. Her suit back home used a rocket launcher designed to target the slow-moving drones controlled by the Anubis God AI. Flamethrowers would be useless on the massive jackal statues she guarded in her own universe. These were designed to kill people-- human and omnic-- in the most painful way possible. 

Pharah was disgusted by this suit. She hoped she never had to put it on. She grabbed a duffel bag off the wall and started filling it with regular guns-- at a bullet had a single target, and sometimes that target even deserved it. A flamethrower and a fireproof suit, on the other hand, was gear for someone who cared only for their own life.

“You know,” Sombra said from behind her. “Things are a little too weird for my tastes here.”

“Tell me about it,” Pharah said flatly. She still didn’t trust Sombra, but she couldn’t help but agree with what she said. 

“I mean, back home, you two are the big damn heroes and I’m the piece of shit,” Sombra laughed, “but here, I’m somebody, and you’re both monsters.”

Fareeha dropped her duffel bag and whipped to face her. 

“What is your _problem?_ ” she spat at Sombra. “It’s bad enough that we’re out of the frying pan and into the fire without you in here making barbs at me.”

Sombra shrunk. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Fareeha laughed derisively. “We wouldn’t even _be_ here if it weren’t for you.”

“Hey, this was _your_ idea,” Sombra threw back. 

“Yeah, an idea I only had to have because _you_ didn’t do your _job_ and disarm that bomb,” Fareeha said. 

“What happened to ‘we saved the world?’” Sombra asked. “If it wasn’t for my quick thinking, _everyone_ would be dead, _us included._ ”

“Why did you even come in here?” Fareeha yelled. “Is it pathological with you? Can you literally not speak without antagonizing someone?”

“ _No, I can’t!_ ” Sombra yelled, surprising even her. “I wasn’t trying to antagonize you. I said it because I actually thought it was funny.”

Fareeha’s jaw dropped. “You think it’s funny that in this universe, I’m a psychotic stormtrooper who burns people alive?” 

“No, I--” Sombra started, and choked a little bit. “I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Then _what?”_ Fareeha demanded. 

“The idea of you two as bad people,” Sombra confessed, “I thought it was ridiculous. I thought you’d find the idea of _me_ as a good person ridiculous too, okay? Thought I could find some common ground with you, now that the shoe’s on the other foot.”

This surprised Fareeha more than anything Sombra had said so far. “This is you trying to be _friendly?_ ”

“Yeah,” Sombra looked visibly uncomfortable.

“And does this sort of thing _ever_ get the sort of results you want?” Fareeha asked. 

“The people at Talon haven’t tried to kill me yet,” Sombra said, “which is more than I can say about most people.”

Something clicked in Fareeha’s mind, and her anger seemed to melt away, replaced by a profound sorrow. “That’s your idea of friendship? Being allowed to live?”

“That’s how it is for most of us,” Sombra said. “I’ve been fighting for my life since I was ten. I didn’t have the luxury of learning social niceties. From where I’m standing, this place isn’t all that different from my childhood”

Fareeha sighed. “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she said. “I still think you’re a horse’s ass, but given our circumstances, I’ll take someone who’s _trying_ to be friendly over someone who actively wishes me ill.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sombra said, “for… I don’t know, whatever. Trying to lighten the mood.”

Fareeha bit her tongue. “How about this,” she proposed, “we’re in this together, so how about you try to be considerate of the fact that this sort of brutality is new to me and Tracer, and I’ll keep in mind that you’re not _trying_ to be an ass and try to be a little more patient with you. Deal?”

“Within reason,” Sombra said, “I mean, I’d love for us to be friends while we’re here, but I’d hate to think I might stop driving you up a wall.”

Fareeha laughed. “See? That time, I did find it funny.”

Sombra laughed as well, and decided not to tell Fareeha that she was actually trying to be flirty, that time, as she’d missed it in the bunker.

“Hey, so,” Sombra said. “I know this is gonna sound weird, but you need to start beating me senseless.”

“What?” Fareeha asked, unclear if this was another joke.

“Now. _Right now_.”

Fareeha sensed the urgency in her voice and immediately began to strike her. 

Tracer examined the tablet in her own jacket. She was terrified of what she might find, but she had to know anyway. 

She typed Emily’s name into it and looked her up in the Overwatch Database. Her picture flashed onscreen-- not the soft, sweet, kind, perpetually concerned Emily of her own universe, but a scowling, angry woman wearing a uniform. She was a member of the Emperor’s Regime, writing propaganda pieces to scare the populace into submission. 

She typed in the names of her other friends-- Genji Shimada was currently at large and wanted for the assassination of his brother Hanzo, the governor of their province who reported directly to the Emperor. Dr. Angela Ziegler was “The Angel Of Mercy,” overseeing the execution of dissidents who couldn’t be successfully resocialized. There was no record of Winston, and Tracer hoped that meant he didn’t exist in this world, but feared that he simply might not be a matter of public record. 

Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were alive, and working together-- that was no surprise in any universe-- and were wanted for the assassination of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, Reinhardt Wilhelm. Tracer felt a pang of sadness. She understood logically that these _weren’t_ her friends, her family, but the human mind wasn’t quite equipped to understand the intricacies of the multiverse, not when looking at a photo of its loved ones with the word “DECEASED” underneath it. The emperor’s new bodyguard, Brigitte Lindholm, promised “I will not be as weak as Reinhardt was.”

Mei-Ling Zhou was the emperor’s chief scientist, credited with the creation of the Hand of Zeus, a climate engine that allowed the emperor to create devastating storms at any location of her choosing. 

She remembered seeing D.Va’s face on the screens, and wondered where some of the other public figures she’d heard about were, in this world. She typed in the name of someone she desperately hoped was still alive, Tekhartha Mondatta, and was delighted to find that he and the Shambali were mostly unchanged in this universe and had been successfully sheltering those who’d escaped the Empire’s seemingly global reach and withstanding the Emperor’s forces’ attacks by fortifying their position in the mountains. 

She typed in “Lucio Correia Dos Santos” and found that he was wanted for the theft of Imperial tech, but there was very little else on him. 

At this point, she realized she would eventually have to look up the person she least wanted to know about in this horrible place. She slowly typed “LENA OXTON” into the tablet, and saw her own face pop up, with the long arrow-straight hair that looked so unnatural on her head. She saw the list of accomplishments cited to her and almost vomited. They were more horrible than she could’ve ever imagined. She would forever be haunted by the words “massacre” and “mass torture” listed as reasons she’d received commendations. 

Tracer collected herself and realized she might be able to soften the blow for Pharah by looking up her loved ones for her. She typed in “Ana Amari” and when she saw her profile, screamed “PHARAH!” and ran upstairs to meet her in the armory. 

“You will address me as _Captain Amari_ , you _filth!_ ” Pharah spat at her, turning and giving pleading eyes that told her they were being watched. 

Sombra sat, apparently unconscious, on the floor behind Pharah, her nose bleeding profusely. She had something in her twitching hand, but Tracer couldn’t tell what it was. 

“As I was saying--”

It was at this point that Tracer noticed the hologram looming in front of Pharah. 

Standing there, in blood red robes, adorned with so much gold jewelry that it seemed a miracle she could even lift it, was the Emperor. 

Lord of all seven continents. Bringer of life and order. Overlord of the skies and seas. The latest victor in the constant battle for the throne. The God-Queen of all men and machines. 

“My apologies, Captain Amari,” Tracer said, bowing her head, “my _sincerest_ apologies, Emperor Amari.”

“Your discipline is my daughter’s business, I can’t be troubled with it,” Ana replied. “I’m pleased to see you’re handling the Colomar arrest by the book, Fareeha. When Jesse told me she was being delivered to your lodgings, I must say, I feared sedition. I was led to assume you intended to collaborate with the enemy.”

“Jesse has always been paranoid, Mother, you know that.” Pharah replied. 

“He said you referred to her as a _suspect_ , as though her guilt was unknown to you,” Ana said. 

“A slip of the tongue,” Fareeha promised, “nothing more.”

“And when I saw you’d disabled the surveillance cameras in your armory,” Ana said, “I feared the convict had overpowered you, and perhaps taken you prisoner. Had I not reactivated them and seen you interrogating the suspect, I would’ve had my honor guard storming your mansion within seconds.”

“It is fortuitous you can trust me, then, Mother,” Fareeha said, trying not to shake. “I simply wanted to ensure privacy for the interrogation, so no sensitive information was overheard.” 

Ana frowned. “You’re never this formal, or this respectful. Is something wrong, my dear? Do I need to send someone down to assist you?”

“ _No!_ ” Pharah snapped, then composed herself. “No, I’m simply eager to resume my interrogation. I believe the sus-- the _convict_ will provide valuable intel to locate the traitor Gabriel Reyes.”

Ana smiled. “A noble endeavor. But it will have to wait. Put her on ice. Santos and Vatswani are fomenting insurrection in the outlands. You and Oxton are needed to quell their uprising. Report to Dr. Zhou within the hour to receive your equipment loadout.”

The hologram vanished without so much as a goodbye, and Sombra’s eyes snapped open. She once again pressed the button on her device and Tracer saw the surveillance cameras deactivate once more. 

“Phew!” Sombra said, “that was a close one.”

Tracer shook her head in confusion. “I need someone to explain what’s happening to me again.”

“The Emperor managed to wrest control of the surveillance system back from me,” Sombra explained. “I almost didn’t get big blue over here to start hitting me in time.”

“Can’t she just reactivate it again?” Pharah asked.

“She can,” Sombra said, “but now, as far as she knows, it _is_ active. That’s what I was doing while I was pretending to be passed out. It’s a standard infiltration tactic, I programmed a realistic simulation of all three of us to feed into the cameras, and connected it to your debrief tablet so it would appear to be following her orders to the letter. As long as you two meet Dr. Zhou, whoever that is, within the hour, she’ll have no idea what we’re doing in here.”

Tracer turned to Pharah. “Fareeha, I’m so sorry, I was just coming up here to tell you. Your mother--”

“Not my mother,” Fareeha stopped her short. “The worst thing my mother ever did to me was lie about being dead. This is a despot wearing her face, and I won’t stand for that.”

“You won’t stand for it?” Tracer was confused. “How do you propose we stop it?”

“First, we’re going to go on this mission to quell Santos and Vaswani’s uprising,” Pharah said, and Sombra and Tracer looked horrified. “And then, we’re going to tell them that we’ll help them depose the Emperor if they help us get home.”

“Look,” Sombra interrupted, “this take-charge attitude is _really_ working for me, but if these guys are rebels against your mom--” she saw Pharah’s expression and quickly corrected herself, “--fine, NOT your mom, then why would they help you?”

“You’re going to convince them we can be trusted,” Tracer said. 

“And how am I--” Sombra began, and then saw the image Tracer had pushed in her face on the tablet. It was her-- or rather, her Alternate Self-- standing with her shoulders around two men. On the left, she recognized her old Talon buddy Jean-Baptiste Augustin, and smiled thinking that he was one of the good guys in this world. 

On the right was Lucio Correia Dos Santos. She almost didn’t recognize him, with the full goatee and mustache, or the thin scar over his eye, but it was unmistakably him. 

“It’s the only known image of Lucio in this world,” Tracer says, “his association with you is why the Empire believes him to be an agent of Talon. If you two are friends in this world, maybe you can convince him to hear us out.”

Sombra was taken aback. 

“I don’t envy this task,” Fareeha smiled and clapped her on the back. “I guess I’m glad that over here, you’re, what did you call it? The big damn hero?”

“Even if this works, and that’s a huge if,” Sombra asked, “how are these guys gonna help us get home?”

“Vaswani,” Fareeha said. “In our world, Satya Vaswani is a hard-light architech who’s mostly known for city planning, but those of us in private security know she’s notorious for her unique ability to use hard-light to generate Einstein-Rosen bridges.”

“Wormholes,” Tracer said. “If this Vaswani is anything like ours, she might be able to replicate our process and guarantee we’ll make it back to our own world.”

Sombra puffed air into her cheeks. “Well, it’s the best lead we’ve got right now,” she said. 

“Problem is, you’re supposed to be imprisoned in a stasis chamber,” Fareeha said. “How are we going to get you there unnoticed?”

Sombra grinned. “You leave that to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Girls find some new allies

It almost sickened Tracer _more_ that Mei’s personality, if not her actions, were pretty much identical in this universe to the Mei she knew back home. She was sweet, excitable, and very eager to help them gear up. It would’ve been endearing, if the gear she was giving them wasn’t designed to suppress dissent. 

“Gave those some new upgrades!” Mei said cheerfully, “you don’t have to worry about winging them this time. The metal is infused with a powerful nerve toxin! If you hit them anywhere, they’ll be dead before they hit the ground!” Mei beamed, and Tracer felt like she was going to vomit. 

“Hope I don’t… uh… run out of those,” Tracer barely disguised her disgust. 

“Oh, just press the reload button!” Mei said excitedly, “it’ll use your accelerator to rewind the clip, allowing you to shoot the same 40 rounds over and over as long as you want!”

“Sounds like the sort of thing Moira would’ve come up with,” Fareeha muttered under her breath. 

Mei looked hurt, which concerned Pharah, who didn’t expect Mei to hear her. 

“Well,” Mei shrugged, “she’s looking down on us right now, watching me do the job better than she ever could.”

Tracer surmised from context clues that Moira was dead, and that this was common knowledge, and knew that asking for details on that would expose them. However, one of the things Mei had said was simply too outlandish for her to let slide. “Up there? You really think _Moira_ is in heaven?”

Mei laughed, exactly as she laughed back home. “Of course not. She was weak! I mean up _there!”_ Mei pointed up at the wall above the door to her lab. 

Tracer, who had, up to this point, been doing a relatively good job containing her horror at the world they found themselves in, turned her head to look where Mei was pointing and found her limit. 

_"HOLY DAMN IT CHRISTMAS!”_ Tracer shrieked, and actually lost her footing and fell to the ground. 

On the wall above the door, on a dark mahogany plaque, sat Moira O’Deorain’s severed head, embalmed and preserved with a look of agony on her face. 

Mei laughed again, and Tracer scrambled for the garbage can. Moments later, the feeling that she was going to vomit was replaced entirely by the much worse feeling of having just vomited. 

“Lena, you’re so _silly,_ ” Mei laughed. “Some of my best work, don’t you think?”

Fareeha leaned down to help Tracer to her feet. “You did that, then?” 

“I just made the head,” Mei said. “One of the backroom boys did the actual taxidermy.”

“Did she at least deserve it?” Fareeha asked.

“Oh, of course!” Mei asked, “She called me ‘Dr. Zhao’ and asked me if the murder of my research team yielded any interesting data.”

Sombra, who was sitting cloaked in the corner, stifled a laugh. If it wouldn’t give them away, and she hadn’t promised to try and take her in good faith, Fareeha would’ve taken her to task for this. However, Sombra was not laughing at what Moira had said, but thought it was funny that Moira behaved exactly the same in a universe where bad behavior was rewarded as she did in one where it was punished. 

Fareeha hated this version of Mei, but still felt that in the event that their effort to defect to Talon failed, it made sense to stay on good terms with their only scientific ally, and she found herself remembering the cryogenic freezer they had pretended to load Sombra into for appearances before they left. 

“You know,” Fareeha said, “we have a convict on ice back at my place. Used one of your pods. I don’t know how you do it without killing them, but those things really keep them fresh.”

Mei smiled, proud of her work. “Well, the newer models _can_ kill them if you _want_ them to, but that costs a little extra.”

Tracer had about as much as she could take. “We really should get on the road. Is there anything else we should know about this uprising?”

“Of course, back to business,” Mei replied. “The Hand of Zeus is currently operational, and Santos and Vaswani’s stronghold has been under hurricane-level wind and rain for weeks. We’ll have to ease up on the storm to airdrop you in, so they’ll know you’re coming. You’ll need to go in blasting.”

“Wonderful,” Fareeha said, “I’ll be using my rocket launcher, then. Using a flamethrower in a hurricane just seems like a waste of fuel.”

She moved to exit the lab, and Tracer, taking one last horrified look at Moira’s taxidermied head, followed suit.

“Going old school!” Mei cheered after them, “Good luck!!”

As she left, realizing she wouldn’t have an opportunity like this again, Sombra swiped Mei’s ID badge from her lab coat, and slipped out of the lab after Tracer and Pharah. 

Mei had not exaggerated about the weather conditions. From a distance, Fareeha could see the storm system, hanging unmoving in the sky above a single block in a ruined city. At the center of it stood a massive reinforced structure-- once a resocialization camp where dissidents were sent to have the anti-imperial sentiment forcibly coded out of their mind, it was now the stronghold of a rebellion led by Lucio Correia dos Santos and Satya Vaswani-- two people who Lena knew, in her universe, would never be caught dead working together. 

Unfortunately for the regime, they had done too good of a job making the prison secure. In the hands of Imperial forces, it was impossible to escape. In the hands of the Talon rebels, it was impossible to infiltrate. The walls were too high to scale, too tough to penetrate, and lined with dozens of turrets where armed snipers _could_ stand to shoot anyone who managed to escape, but who were currently staffed by the prisoners, watching the skies to shoot down any aircraft that came too close.

According to their dossier, Lucio and Satya had teleported into the warden’s office, murdered him, turned the automated defenses on the guards, and rallied the prisoners to take command of the facility and turn a prison into a fortress. 

Lena considered herself lucky that her counterpart was a pilot as well, meaning she could fly her own dropship-- or the closest thing to it-- instead of having to be accompanied by an Imperial pilot. As they approached, as Mei had promised, the weather cleared up to allow them passage, and the snipers in the towers took aim to shoot down the dropship. Lena took as many evasive maneuvers as possible to avoid this, and Sombra activated her surveillance jammer and coded it to show anyone watching an uneventful trip so she could safely de-cloak. 

“Okay,” Sombra explained, “hail them.”

Fareeha hit a button on the console, and Sombra began speaking into the holo-recorder immediately. 

“This is Sombra calling Lucio, repeat, Sombra calling Lucio!” She yelled. “Cease fire! I escaped Imperial custody in one of their dropships!”

The snipers paused, and Lucio’s face projected from the surface of the table. 

This was not the sweet, exuberant Lucio any of them knew. His face was hardened into a scowl, accentuated by the full goatee and mustache and the scar over one of his eyes. 

“Just Sombra?” He asked plainly, “Not _La_ Sombra?”

Sombra sighed. “I’ll explain it all when we land.”

Lucio’s eyes flashed with concern. “ _We?_ ” 

“I had the aid of two defectors to escape,” Sombra explained, “they’re in the dropship with me. They can be trusted.”

Lucio wasn’t convinced. “Bring them down. They’ll need to be interviewed before we can be sure of that.”

Lena set the dropship down in the prison yard, and she, Fareeha, and Sombra stepped out with their hands up. 

Immediately upon their exit, several burly Talon troopers tackled Fareeha and Lena to the ground and wrestled them into cuffs. 

Lucio strode up to them and simply loomed over them, seeming much taller than he actually was. “You really thought we’d let the Emperor’s daughter just waltz in here with the Butcher of Numbani?” 

Lena’s face flashed red. She knew she wasn’t _actually_ the Butcher of Numbani, but it was still stung to walk in her shoes. 

“Lucio, please,” Sombra pleaded, “I know what it looks like but I promise, we’re not who we seem to be.”

Lucio looked at her and considered this for several seconds. Sombra could see the years of friendship carried a lot of weight with him, and that she was testing its patience. 

“Please,” she said again, quietly, “just hear us out.”

Lucio relented. “Bring them into Satya’s office,” he ordered the guards. “This had better be good, Olivia.”

The three women were ushered into the head office, where Satya Vaswani sat on a cushion of red hard-light, fidgeting anxiously with her mechanical hand. When she saw Sombra, her eyes lit up. She rushed over, embraced her, and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her lips. 

Sombra was, understandably, taken aback, and pushed Satya away. “Jesus, lady, buy a girl a drink first!”

Satya looked confused. “Olivia,” she said softly, and Sombra could see a tear well up in Satya’s bionic eye. 

“How do you know my name?” Sombra asked. 

The tear ran down Satya’s cheek. “Cuff her.”

On cue, Lucio grabbed Sombra and slapped a pair of cuffs on her as well.

“Christ!” Sombra yelled, “talk about your mixed messages.”

“She’s been resocialized,” Satya said, “she doesn’t even remember her own wife.”

“We have the facilities to fix that now,” Lucio said, “she’ll be back to normal in a day or two.”

“No, you don’t understand--” Fareeha cut in, but was interrupted. 

“If we have a day or two,” Satya said. “You allowed their aircraft in? How do we know they’re not a Trojan horse? We could be overrun with imperial guards in seconds.”

“If they were a Trojan horse, why would they reveal the presence of the princess and the butcher to us up-front?” Lucio asked, “besides, your men swept the aircraft. It’s clean.”

“ _Excuse me,_ ” Fareeha said assertively. “She doesn’t _recognize you_ because she doesn’t _know you_. We’re not who we look like.”

Lucio laughed. “You’re not Fareeha Amari, then?”

“No, I am,” Fareeha said, “just not the one you’re thinking of. We’re from another world.”

Satya narrowed her eyes. 

“It’s true,” Sombra said. “There was an accident with my translocator, and we were brought here. We believe _your_ Olivia is now lost in _our_ world.”

“Preposterous,” Satya sneered. “Don’t worry, my love. We’ll break your conditioning soon. Take her away.”

“No, _wait!”_ Sombra yelled, “If you do this, your real wife will be lost forever!”

Satya still believed their premise was ridiculous, but relented. The risk was simply too great. She held up her hand, and Lucio stopped attempting to drag her out. 

“I don’t believe you are who you say you are,” Satya said “but I’m willing to hear you out. Starting with _you,_ Captain Amari.”

Satya tapped something on her wrist and a holo-screen appeared between them. “Is your name Fareeha Amari?”

“Yes,” Fareeha stated. 

The word “TRUE” appeared in green on the holo-screen with a chime.

“And your mother is Emperor Ana Amari?” Satya asked. 

Fareeha hesitated, Satya hit a button, and her cuffs delivered a painful shock. She held in a scream. 

“You will answer promptly and truthfully,” Satya said, “Yes or no, is your mother Emperor Ana Amari?”

Fareeha didn’t hesitate again. “My mother is Ana Amari, but she is not an Emperor.”

Satya raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating,” she said, and turned to Lena. “Is your name Lena Oxton?”

“Yes,” Lena replied quickly.

“TRUE,” the viewscreen verified.

“And you, too, claim to be from this… other world?” Satya asked. 

“I do,” Lena replied. 

“TRUE,” the viewscreen flashed again.

“And are you?”

“I’m sorry?” Lena asked, and received a painful shock of her own. She let out a scream.

“I asked before if you claimed to be from another world,” Satya explained. “I’m asking you now whether you actually are.”

“I am,” Lena said. 

“TRUE,” the green word lit up the word again. 

“Ms. Oxton,” Satya asked, “have you ever killed an Omnic?”

Lena was shocked. “I have,” she admitted. 

“TRUE,” the screen flashed. 

“In our world, Lena fought an omnic terrorist group called Null Sector,” Fareeha explained rapidly, “yes, she killed, but only to save innocent lives, omnic _and_ human.”

“TRUE,” the viewscreen confirmed. 

“Uh-huh,” Satya said, “alright then, Ms. Oxton. Have you ever killed an _innocent_ omnic?”

Lena sighed. “Yes.”

“TRUE,” the holoscreen lit up. 

“Fascinating,” Satya said again. 

Fareeha and Sombra turned to look at Tracer. 

“His name?” Satya asked. 

“Tekhartha Mondatta,” Lena admitted. 

“TRUE,” the screen confirmed. 

“And how did you kill him?” Satya asked. 

Lena hesitated, but Satya did not press the button to shock her. 

“Accidentally,” she said. “I tried to save him, and he took a bullet meant for me.”

“TRUE,” the viewscreen flashed. 

Satya smiled. “They are who they say they are.”

“No doubt about it,” Lucio said. He snapped his fingers, and all three of their cuffs came off. 

Fareeha had never been more confused. “Not that I’m complaining, but how can you know?”

“Our lie detector can only measure whether you _believe_ you’re telling the truth,” Satya said. “Ms. Oxton believes that failing to save someone is the same as killing them. She feels genuine remorse for the death of an innocent.”

“If you’d been sent here to murder us, it wouldn’t make sense for them to resocialize you to feel a moral objection to murder,” Lucio explained. “Resoc is a violent and traumatic process. It can’t fabricate compassion.”

“Either you’re really a version of Lena Oxton who feels genuine compassion for others,” Satya said, “or such a person exists and your own personality has been overwritten by hers. Either way, you’re no threat.”

Tracer looked horrified. “That’s really all it takes?” She asked, “ _that’s_ how you can tell I’m not _your_ Lena Oxton? That I feel _empathy?_ ”

“Yeah,” Lucio said. “That a problem?”

“I just can’t get a handle on this world,” Tracer replied. “You and Symmetra are friends and I’m ‘the butcher of numbani.’”

“We’re not allies in your world?” Satya asked. 

Fareeha laughed. “Yeah, like two peas in a pod.”

“In our world,” Tracer explained, “Satya Vaswani is a corporate agent trying her best to rebuild after the Omnic Crisis, even though the company she works for is… questionable at best. Lucio led an uprising to remove them from Rio de Janeiro.”

“So not very much is different,” Satya replied. “Lucio is an accomplished freedom fighter here, and I’m trying to rebuild the world even though I don’t necessarily agree with Talon’s methods.”

“The more time I spend here,” Fareeha says, “the more I feel like all the little things are the same and all the big picture stuff has gone wild.”

Sombra chuckled. “I’m glad me and the girl scouts are having just as much trouble with the new state of things. I’m honestly not used to being on the right side of things.”

Lucio laughed. “Man, I can’t relate. Sounds like I’m great in every timeline.”

“So my question for you is,” Satya asked, “if you’re not our Olivia, why did you come here? Shouldn’t you be out there trying to find a way to switch yourself back?”

“That is why we came here,” Fareeha said. “We think that your abilities are the key to our return home. And besides… back in my world, my mother always taught me, when you’re a guest in someone else’s home, leave it nicer than when you found it. Over here, there’s a fascist using her name. I figure if we’re going to ask for your help getting home, we should at least make this place a little nicer by helping you take her down.”

Lucio smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“If I think it, I can create it,” Satya said. “I believe I can find a way to get you home, if you help me understand how you got here.”

Tracer smiled. “And we’ll get your Olivia back to you,” she said. “I wish there was some way we could repay you, love,” she gestured to Lucio.

“Hey, you’re already helping me,” Lucio said, “but I tell you what, when you get back home, track down your Lucio and buy that handsome bastard a caipirinha for me.”

“Done,” Tracer and Sombra said simultaneously, and then both looked surprised at the other. 

“I didn’t know you knew Lucio back home too,” Tracer said. 

“I could say the same to you, _love,_ ” Sombra said in a way that she intended to be playful but came off slightly derisively. 

Luckily, Tracer took it in the spirit in which it was intended. “You could’ve saved us a lot of fights,” she said, “any friend of Lucio’s is a friend of mine.”

“I like this guy,” Lucio said, “he got a boyfriend?”

At that moment, a trooper burst through the door. “Sir, Ma’am… I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re being hailed… I think you should take it.”

Satya pressed a button on her arm and the viewscreen shifted into the form of Emperor Amari. 

“Did you think I didn’t know?” Ana asked. “Did you think I can’t identify my own daughter?”

Fareeha was shocked. “What are you talking about, mother?”

“As soon as you left your home, I had a team sweep it,” Ana explained, “the prisoner wasn’t there, and the security system had been tampered with to feed me false information.”

Fareeha flushed red. “I’m sorry, mother, I--”

“I knew when I called you to give you this mission,” Ana cut her off. “The real Fareeha would not have _apologized_ for cutting off surveillance. _My daughter_ would have screamed at me, demanded I mind my business. She wouldn’t _disable_ cameras, she would _destroy_ them, and then kill anyone who came to check on her. You think it’s _news_ that Vaswani and Santos have taken over this facility? Why don’t you ask them how long they’ve been here?”

Fareeha opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted again.

“Because the real Fareeha wouldn’t _need_ to ask. She’s been working this case for _months._ I don’t know who you are, but you are _not_ my daughter, and you will _die._ ”

Fareeha knew she couldn’t convince the Emperor she was truly her daughter, so decided to lean into Ana’s assumption. “If you kill me, you’ll never know where we’re holding your real daughter.”

Ana laughed a bit too loudly. “If you’ve taken her place, I assume Fareeha is dead,” she said, “and if she’s being held prisoner somewhere and can’t fight her way out, then for all I care, she might as well be.”

Fareeha was stunned by this. 

“Make peace with your mortality, ‘daughter,’” Ana sneered. “You’ve delivered five of my enemies into one building. You don’t luck into an opportunity like this, it takes careful planning, and by my count… you all have two minutes to live. Long live the Empire!”

The hologram disappeared. 

“What did she mean by--” Sombra asked. 

Satya’s bionic eye began to flash. “I’ve just detected 16 incoming missiles-- nuclear payload.”

“My god, she’s going to nuke the city to kill us,” Tracer said. “We need to evacuate the people.”

“This is the only occupied structure left in the city,” Lucio said, “we just need to get our forces out of here.”

“We won’t be able to get everyone clear in time,” Fareeha shouted.

“She’s cranked up the storm,” Tracer said, “we won’t be able to fly out of here, those winds will tear us apart.”

“Can we try the translocator trick again?” Fareeha asked. 

“It’s not quite recharged yet,” she said, “and besides, odds are we’d double the mess we’re in now.”

“So what do we _do?_ ” Fareeha asked. 

“Satya,” Lucio said, “it’s time.”

Lucio waved his hands and, as though by magic, a silver turntable and a synthesizer made of hard-light appeared before him. He began to play, and red waves began to ripple through the air. 

“I am opening the path,” Satya said, and an electrical fixture appeared in the center of the room with a small reddish portal above it. 

“Let’s turn up the volume!” Lucio said, and cranked the volume up as high as it could go. Satya began to dance, and the portal began to twist and stretch, worming its way into all of the cracks and crevices of the building. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” Lucio said, “it’s time to _accelerate!_ ”

Satya began to dance faster and the portal’s tendrils began to wrap around her, around Sombra and Tracer and Pharah, around the trooper and Lucio, and around the whole building. 

Out the window, the missiles entered visible range, and the tendrils of the portal began to weave themselves together in a hexagonal pattern. 

“Oh, let’s break it _DOWN!”_ Lucio yelled, and smashed a button on his synthesizer that made everything in the building seem to vibrate with a pulsating red energy. 

“Yahí param vaastavikta hai!” Satya shouted, and the tendrils locked into place, creating a massive golden wall that linked with the energy Lucio had created, and encased the building in a protective shield. 

“What the _hell_ is happening?!” Sombra asked. 

“Those missiles aren’t gonna stop coming, and we only get one shot at this. When they hit the wall,” Lucio said, “we’re gonna use that energy and move this whole place to HQ, you read?”

“Copy,” Satya said, “on your signal.”

“Vamos esculachar!” Lucio yelled, and the missiles collided with the wall, which shattered under the impact. 

Tracer, Fareeha, and Sombra all braced themselves, expecting an impact that would kill them instantly, but instead saw the fragments of the wall begin spinning to contain the fire from the blast. The flames spun and spiraled in time with Satya’s dance as she channeled them into the teleporter pad, which spun faster and faster, and glowed brighter and brighter, until all of the flame was gone, and Satya stopped dancing. 

Then, the Teleporter burst open, creating a wormhole slightly larger than the prison, which then collapsed, and suddenly everything was quiet again. 

“So are we dead?” Fareeha asked, “or do we just wish we were?”

“I’m not opening my eyes,” Tracer said, “until someone can promise me what I see makes sense.”

“At least the lights are out this time,” Sombra noted. 

“Oh my god,” Fareeha said. “We’ve moved.”

“The whole building,” Lucio said, wiping his brow. “Not easy. And the lights are out because we didn’t take the electrical grid with us.”

Satya reached for a nearby bottle of water, and took a sip. “Lucio uses his music to bend reality. I do the same by dancing. I couldn’t have accomplished this without him.”

“Imagine what the two of you could do back home,” Fareeha said, “if you worked together.”

Lucio smiled at the thought. “We’ll all have time to talk about how great I am later. Right now, we gotta introduce you to the big man,” he said. “In your world, you got a Gabriel Reyes?”


End file.
